Friday, May 1, 2009

Doormat of Mercy

I slept for a few fleeting hours until the danger of absent emotion woke me up to feel nothing again. My aches come only from within the cells of unused and abused love that never takes place or seeks me while I'm awake. I suppose the relationships I once tried to fill the void with were nothing more than pebbles in a pond that only lead to an ocean in my dreams. Straight to God, where the only true source of love indefinitely resides; everything else in this carcass of a world is a generic replica of His intention. The concept of a twin flame has burned my mind before, but stands as nothing more than a vacant mirage of hope. Jesus once flew into my body in a dream and I haven't seen him apart from me since. The message being conveyed in his gesture of undivided unison was clear, still, I miss seeing him in my dreams. I miss the way he would stare at me and not say a word, but read my mind and speak to me through it. I miss the shimmering galaxy in his dewy eyes, the look of arousal at the mere sight of my energy. It's so effortless, standing in his presence, knowing I have no other place to be, no more appointments to keep, weeds to pull, or bills to open and burn. There is a sense of certainty and closure when I am with him that I shall never find anywhere else. He says that life is beautiful and I am his favorite piece of life to touch but the only time I feel any vibrancy of life is when he looks at me or when we're guiding Aurora.

Estrangement from society feels as if it's the only option to survive and avoid certain rape of that life. I don't struggle to enjoy and wholeheartedly trust God or myself anymore, but struggle to make amends and establish structure within a godless place, full of people lost in the fetters of temporal material and instant gratification. Some say I am just supposed to figure this out on my own, but sometimes I think that answer is a crock of shit, given by those who look the other way to my regression into a place from which there is no return. Maybe they look away because I make them uncomfortable, or maybe they look away so they don't have to acknowledge their involvement or admit there was a time they could have intervened to save me from myself. We've all felt the desperation in despondency and yet we are selfish in our compassion to extend empathy to those who cling to a fragile spark that refuses to be extinguished and yet lacks the wind to start a forest fire. Often all it takes are the warming words of a kind stranger, God speaks through such people in times of soaked and bloated pain.

In a world full of billions of people, why should we have to figure certain things out alone? Jesus had twelve disciples and the apex of the discrepancy arose as they began to branch off alone to teach their own interpretation of his meaning. Before drifting into isolation, Mary tried to convince the men that Jesus was appearing to her in her visions and dreams, but no one would listen to her, they cast her from the circle and she spent most of her years sequestered and weeping. Alone, alone, I damn the word to a lonely hell for all the images the bitter word "alone" erects in my ailing head. After all the lies and deception, the pursuit of truth yields nothing but more confusion and contempt, being alone could only lead to a messy suicide. I can't remain alone, yet I cannot rejoin a world whose sustenance consists of sweeping fear of swine flu, a corrupt government propelling social mischief and internal misdeeds further into our rotted core, and a judgmental upper class consisting of gas companies execs who ultimately run the government by way of generous campaign contributions, or even securing Cheney and company within top tears of power and control. I didn't come here to be another social security number filed under anyone's control, so of course, I am out of control. Fuck control and damn the people misuse it to suit their monetary corporate agenda. I renounce it all, none of those pompous dick wagging fools want to be a part of me mentally or spiritually anyway. What prudence still resides beyond the serenity of a dream? Without a bruised and discarded middle class, the world would cease to function and yet in spite of their persistence and determination to merely pay off a mortgage, they are trapped in a cycle that preys on their dreams of rising above limitations and do not reside in any dream house but rather fall on a doormat of mercy at the front door of banks and brokers. I have little desire to wake to such a place or succumb to being partial to anything except God, if he'll still have me after all of the times I have taken his name in vain; if only to curse myself and the mirage of a torn and bleeding environment.

I'm not a danger to myself or anyone else. The only danger would be in muting my apathy for anything apart from the truth and shielding the brutal nature of my captivity. There are basic comforts in self-imprisonment, being excommunicated from society can be like living in a sanctuary of angels if you fine tune your perception. I am acclimated to the silence found in this barren box. The silence of a mermaid's in a music box is a climate that sustains celestial rapture; a twirling grace, a spiraling tune that merges a restless soul with Christ in a place where dreams can breathe underwater like mermaids. Hallelujah!

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